


Anything for you

by SlyKing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlyKing/pseuds/SlyKing
Summary: The flames were licking his body, now. Beyond any physical pain, Aziraphale lost his identity piece by piece, found himself dislocated and alone, terribly alone in the darkness. Without love. Without warmth. His chest split in despair and helplessness. No one to rescue him, this time. No one to help him out of the burning fire of his Punishment.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Crowley & Aziraphale | Anything for you (Good Omens)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/580744) by Blind Cardinal. 



> Hello !  
> This fiction is probably full of faults because I'm French (and not bilingual, sadly). So feel free to report mistakes to me. Anyway, a big thanks to a dear friend for having already corrected most mistakes and bad turns !  
> 

Aziraphale never thought it would hurt so much. To tell the truth, he had not often thought that, one day, all of this would end this way. Perhaps he should have known? After more than 6000 years spent with a demon, he should have known that the flames would be his end. Or his goal.  
The angel did not protest. In fact, the whole tragedy took him by surprise. He didn't have time to put his book away or finish his tea. Michael and Uriel had seized him so suddenly that his breath (as artificial as it might have been) had been cut. After that, his Judgment had been brief, swift, swept away with a gesture as he and his entire existence were swept away. He had closed his eyes and accepted his fate. But, for God sake, was it really _fair_ ?

The flames were licking his body, now. Beyond any physical pain, Aziraphale lost his identity piece by piece, found himself dislocated and alone, terribly alone in the darkness. Without love. Without warmth. His chest split in despair and helplessness. No one to rescue him, this time. No one to help him out of the burning fire of his Punishment. Declared guilty of treason to Heaven for compromising God's plan and fraternizing with a demon. _Fraternizing... Oh. Crowley would probably have killed me himself for that word._ A joyless smile stretched Aziraphale's lips ; but, as the flames devoured his body, reducing to ashes what he had once been, thinking of Crowley made his End much less painful, more bearable.

With his demon in mind, Aziraphale was no longer completely alone.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

« Aziraphale ! »

Shit. No. Not again! Standing in the middle of the bookshop that had burned down a few weeks ago, Crowley tried to feel the presence of his angel, fists clenched. He felt that something was wrong. That something had changed in London's atmosphere. That something was missing, was out of place. Without thinking, the demon had left his apartment, jumped in his car and hurried to the only place that seemed consistent to him. The bookshop. After compromising the Armageddon, Aziraphale had rebuilt this place to give it its old look. Of course, his entire collection of books had disappeared, to his chagrin, but he would have entire lives to renew it.  
Usually, when Crowley walked through the door of the shop, Aziraphale would appear to greet him with his _every day silly angel's smile_. A smile that Crowley knew was meant for him, and only for him. A smile that he ended up finding welcoming and heart-warming through the centuries. A smile that meant : _It’s always a pleasure to see you, my dear._  
Yet, today, when Crowley pushed the door of the bookshop – despite the closed sign – he knew that something was wrong. The plants at the windows seemed to have dried weeks ago, the warm light was flickering haphazardly, and the comforting smell of Aziraphale had disappeared. As if the angel had never been there. Had never existed. And Crowley's call remained unanswered.

A form of apprehension began to grow inside him as he ventured into the bookshop. If he could have prayed for his friend to be here, simply too busy and not having heard him come in, he would have. He would have prayed with all his might to see his stupid little angel’s face appear. His eyes fell on a book left open on the sofa, in the back shop, then on the tea now cold, in a small cup. Aziraphale would never have left an open book, half tilted on the ground, or even a barely touched cup in the middle of the coffee table. Crowley put his tongue on his dry lips and cried out again:

« Aziraphale? Where are you ? » he hissed between his teeth before mumbling: « Come on, angel. Answer me. Let me be the prankster, stick to the books and the little stuck up smiles. Come on. Aziraphale? »

A sound came from upstairs. Crowley jumped up the stairs. He had never go up here before but he did not have the time to appreciate the decoration at its true value, focused on the noise coming from one of the room. He pushed the door open and it slammed against the wall. His eyes fell on an empty room. Not the slightest sign of life. Even less a sign of Aziraphale. Crowley slammed the door shut behind him on the way out, his nerves on edge. _Think about it. Where could he be..._ Then, suddenly, the wood began to crack. Crowley jumped forward as the flat caught fire.

« What the hell ! » he exclaimed before rushing down to the ground floor. 

The walls were burning in flames and smoke from the fire was thickening. By reflex, Crowley grabbed several books and squeezed them against his chest to protect them from the fire. He turned several times on himself, reliving the same nightmare for a second time. His friend could not be found and his shop was on fire.

« Aziraphale ! » he cried out again, in vain. His call remained unanswered, despite all the willpower he placed in his cries.

The angel did not answer him. His presence had evaporated, dissolved. No trace of his existence remained this time. Nothing. A form of rage grew in Crowley’s guts. They should have run away after all that. And, most importantly, he should never have left his angel alone. Never. He should have anticipated it. He should have doubted that they wouldn't go unpunished so indefinitely. _'Cause that was what's happening, was it not ? Punishment._ Stunned, Crowley fell to his knees in the midst of the flames. _They_ were probably keeping him prisoner somewhere. How was he going to find him, alone and without allies ? While he was asking himself this question, a shiver ran down his spine. Instinctively he straightened up to face Gabriel. He gave off an aura that, unlike the aura of Aziraphale, repulsed Crowley.

« Where is he, bassstard? »  
« Hold your tongue, snake, and watch your vocabulary. I came to inform you when I had no obligation to do so. »  
« Oh, I am deeply touched by so much concern. » Crowley said, but not touched at all.  
« Shut up. Your little game is over. And I have no doubt that Hell will come very soon to punish you in the same way. »  
« Punish? »  
« You heard me, don’t make me repeat myself. This place is bad enough for me to dwell on any longer. We arrested the traitor Aziraphale a few days ago and punished him for his mistakes. »  
« You murdered him, you mean...»  
« A very naughty word. No. We restored things and dissolved their vital essence, that’s all. »  
« A very nice formulation to say that you killed him without warning! And for what, exactly? Huh? WHY? »  
« God works in mysterious ways. You can now stop nosing around into the affairs of Heaven. »  
« Your Lord had nothing to do with this, you son of a... »

Crowley was about to leap on Gabriel, but the silhouette of the archangel disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Carried away by his impetus, the demon found himself once again on the ground, in the midst of the flames. He uttered a cry of rage and helplessness as he felt the presence of Aziraphale disappear completely.

« No! You, selfish bastard, why didn’t you warn me!? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you... I could have tried... I should have tried. Aziraphale... Forgive me...» he breathed, with his fist clenched, strictly forbidding himself from melting into tears. No crying, no giving up. Gabriel was an asshole, he could have lied, right?

His eyes then rested on the cover of one of the books that he always held in his hands. He had to find a way.

« Don’t worry, angel, I won’t let you down. Not today. »


	2. Chapter 2

**LONDON - 1842**

"For God’s sake!" Aziraphale exclaimed under Crowley’s amused gaze.  
“It's often for Her sake that men commit the most abominable acts, indeed.”  
“It’s not what I.... It’s irrelevant. Look at them.... It’s...”

Aziraphale seemed unable to finish his sentence, which remained unfinished. Crowley looked at him over his sunglasses, mocking him before sighing. He didn't like the situation any more than Azi ; truth bo told, he did not always understand human actions. Their mortal condition made them fragile in the face of their own Fatality and they seemed ready to do anything to avoid the death that frightened them so much. When Aziraphale clenched his fists along his body, Crowley lost all desire to joke around. He sighed and nodded.

“Come on, angel. We don’t have to witness this.”

Aziraphale let himself be carried away from the cemetery and followed the demon's shape, not without glancing backwards. This situation made him uncomfortable. He could understand the visceral need of men to escape their destiny, to reject the end and avoid it to close family but... _That_ ? The angel had never witnessed such a ritual before, and it tormented him. Was this not the very reflection of all humans suffering in the face of the loss of a loved one? Unable to overcome the loss, they lost themselves in darkness and tried to bring them back to life using the most macabre means. They disturbed their sleep hoping to see them again, to see their smile again, to hear their voice again, to feel their warmth again. But all of this was an illusion. We could not revive the dead, unless God decided to resurrect them. In practicing such rituals, men summoned occult forces that they could not control, only realizing too late that they had brought back a ghost. A shadow.

Aziraphale collided Crowley’s back. He had not noticed that the demon had stopped walking, or even that they had arrived near the bookshop.

"Excuse me, dear." he immediately whispered, out of polite habit. Crowley dug his hands in his pockets and looked at him for a moment without saying anything.  
"Well, it was just necromancy, you know."  
“Oh. Yes, of course... It’s just that... I’m sad for them. They suffer and, finally, they don’t see any other solution than... _this._ ”  
“I know, angel. They are pawns on a very strange chessboard...”  
Aziraphale frowned, too tired to have this conversation with Crowley.  
“God’s plan is ineffable, my dear.”  
"Oh, no! You’re still giving me the same bullshit !"  
"Language." He rebuked the demon, a moralizing finger raised between them.  
“It’s very rude to point fingers at someone, you know ? Aaah. Look, angel, don’t torture your mind too much, that’s all.”  
"Of course, you and your side are fine with that kind of thing..."  
Crowley marked a pause before raising his eyes heavenward.  
“Yeah, I’m filled with happiness in front of so much suffering. Well, good night, angel! See you soon.”

Without waiting for an answer, he left Aziraphale standing in front of his bookshop. The angel whispered. Snow began falling gently around him, enveloping his solitude in a white cloak.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

**LONDON – Nowadays**

Crowley had discreetly tried to investigate on his own, but it wasn’t easy. He and Aziraphale were no longer on very good terms with Heaven and Hell since they had prevented the Armageddon. _Don’t thank us for saving the Earth and preventing a war !_ But he had to face the facts : his angel was nowhere to be found. Neither on Earth, nor in Heaven, and even less in Hell. His presence had evaporated, literally extinguished. Gabriel may not have lied to him, after all. Yet Crowley refused to give up. Last time, he took refuge in a bar to drink and forget the throbbing pain that imprisoned his chest in a vice. The same pain that had been flooring him for three days. _Three. Fucking. Days._ And despite all the obvious signs, Crowley refused to abandon his friend. How could he have let him down ? And, by Go... by Sat... _Fuck_ ! He resented him a lot for not having warned him. Not having called him. The demon would have heard. He always noticed his distress. He was always there to cover his back. It was probably the only good thing he had done since his fall.  
To be honest, Crowley blamed himself more than he blamed Aziraphale. They should have left, that’s all. For at least a few hundred years, until things settled on both sides. But no, Crowley had left him alone. He had to fix it. There had to be a way to fix it.

Actually, yes. Crowley saw a way. He did not know how to do it without drawing the attention of Hell on himself – and it would probably entail a serious punishment for him – but was Aziraphale not worth it? And what’s the point of walking this Earth alone when his angel wasn’t there? Sitting in his apartment, a bottle of almost empty wine open on his desk, Crowley was staring listlessly at the opposite wall in the room. He would have given anything to hear the phone ring, the answering machine go off, and Aziraphale’s voice fill the room with all its brilliance. A deep sigh escaped Crowley’s lips. He could have tried to attack Heaven as a last token of protest but it would not have been of much use. He would have been killed, and his death would not have brought Aziraphale back to life. Crowley stood up, grabbed the bottle, and finished it before wiping his mouth with the lapel of his sleeve.

"Woooouh! Okay! Here we go."

He put on music and cracked his fingers. He didn’t really know what he was getting into, but that was his last shot. What else could he have done anyway ? And if it didn’t work, he would just have to throw himself into a holy water fountain. Yeah. That's it.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Somewhere in the darkness that had become his existence, Aziraphale felt something dislodging his soul. He couldn't think because he no longer had his own existence, but this feeling bothered him, disturb his vital essence.  
Somewhere in the darkness, the angel became aware of his deep loneliness. Without a physical envelope, he was nothing but a vague spirit that wandered aimlessly. The love that once brought him constant comfort had disappeared, replaced by a cold void. God was no longer at his side. If Aziraphale had been able to cry, he probably would have. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a dear friend for the corrections. :-)   
> Feel free to report any mistake !


End file.
